


hopeless, head-over-heels

by bageldiscourse



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-23 02:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17072123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bageldiscourse/pseuds/bageldiscourse
Summary: “You are thebest,” Casey declares, his face lighting up immediately. “I owe you one, seriously, thank youso much—”“Hey, hey,” Rasmus interrupts, laughing a little at Casey’s enthusiasm. “It’s no problem. I’m happy to help.”Casey gets the hint and focuses his attention back to his sandwich, though he’s unable to hide his smile through the rest of lunch as they switch the subject to their upcoming game against the Sharks.All in all, Rasmus thinks the look on Casey’s face is probably worth whatever awkwardness will come in a month’s time.(Besides, as Casey is always saying, that awkwardness is a problem forfutureRasmus.)





	hopeless, head-over-heels

**Author's Note:**

> hi! merry (almost) christmas! i love this fic dearly, and i hope u all do as well :')
> 
> this wouldn't exist without lauren and shannon consistently holding my hand and helping me thru writers block every once in awhile. love you both endlessly.

Rasmus walks through the door of his apartment and immediately collapses onto the couch, exhaustion getting the best of him after a four hour flight to cap off a week-long road trip. To his right, he’s pleased to see that his potted plant is still looking healthy—he’d overwatered it the day he left in anticipation of it dying otherwise—and everything else in his living room space looks just as he left it at the beginning of the week. It’s comforting, even if a grim reminder that he lives alone.

Just as he closes his eyes and starts to relax, his phone rings.

It’s his mom, and as soon as he picks up she starts to talk rapid-fire, and all Rasmus registers is that she’s asking something about the annual family Christmas party.

“Mom, what?” Rasmus says, holding his phone a good three inches from his ear because when she’s excited she forgets to talk with her Inside Voice.

“I _asked_ if you’re still going to our holiday party, dear,” his mom’s saying, gently but firmly, and Rasmus sighs, trying to recall the team’s schedule around Christmas to see if it would even be plausible. “Everyone’s going to be there, you know, they’d really love to see you again. . . .”

“You know I wish I could,” Rasmus says, letting his voice trail off in an unspoken explanation. Slipping into Swedish, he says, “You’ll visit soon, though?”

“Of course, my darling,” she says, following suit. “How was your day?”

Seizing the opportunity to shift the subject elsewhere, Rasmus starts to ramble about his flight from Washington to Buffalo, about how he’s been playing as of late.

 

Immediately the next morning Rasmus decides his least favorite noise is the one coming from his phone alarm, letting him know he overslept his first three alarms and is two minutes from running late to morning skate.

“Fuck,” he says, mostly to his ceiling, before getting up and starting a sped-up version of his morning routine. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He is, quite possibly, the most miserable person in the city of Buffalo at this very moment—which is saying a lot, from his limited experience of living in Buffalo.

He starts by pulling on the probably-clean hoodie and pair of sweatpants lying unceremoniously on his bedroom floor, then heads to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth and grabs an over-ripe banana off the kitchen counter on his way out the door in record time, ordering an Uber to the arena on his way down the elevator. He’s pretty proud of himself for making an otherwise thirty minute process a ten minute one this morning, though it’s at the expense of not having any coffee and also, apparently, forgetting to brush his sleep-messy hair, the latter of which he gets chirped for liberally as he rushes into the locker room.

He’s sitting at his stall and tying his left skate, when Casey comes up to him.

“You look like shit, man,” he says, but he’s grinning, touseling Rasmus’ hair as he talks. He has a bright, lopsided smile that Rasmus has decided over the past few months that he likes a lot.

“Rough night?”

“Overslept,” Rasmus confirms, as he moves on to tying his right skate.

“Happens to the best of us.” Casey spends a minute just watching Rasmus, his expression unreadable, and when Rasmus looks up from his skate again he flashes a performative half-smile. “I’ll see you out there then?”

“Yeah,” Rasmus says, watching Casey turn around and leave, wondering what the hell that was all about.

When Rasmus walks out to the ice, Casey is skating lazy circles along the length of the rink, and Rasmus can’t help but watch, stuck in place and unable to think about anything but Casey’s calculated, even strides.

In the short time they’ve known each other, Rasmus has loved to watch Casey skate. He’s very controlled when he skates, strong and smooth and crazy fast; Rasmus has lost count on the number of times he’s gotten distracted during practice, or on the bench during games, following with his eyes Casey’s skates as they move and all the way up to the determined look on his face, the way his nose scrunches with concentration.

This morning is no exception, except for how he’s suddenly interrupted by Jeff saying, “Hello . . . Earth to Rasmus?”

And that’s—a little embarrassing, to be caught, but. It’s only Jeff, who’s all but adopted him at this point. He wouldn’t be a dick about it.

Casey catches his eye, then, and smiles, lopsided and genuine. Still looking at Casey—with an equally dumb grin on his face, he’s sure—he shoves Jeff lightly and gives him a weak, “Shut up.”

“Hey, no judgement here,” Jeff says. “Just saying, you should ask him out. He clearly likes you.”

Before Rasmus can reply to that, coach blows the whistle to start practice. Jeff skates away, but not before telling him, “I’m serious, man!”

Rasmus decides to just ignore him, because like. In what world, you know? He shouldn’t even get his hopes up about it, so he doesn’t.

 

“Lunch?” Casey asks in the locker room after practice, looking hopeful. Most of the guys have cleared out already, but the two of them have lingered together, presumably waiting for the other to initiate a conversation.

“Of course,” Rasmus says. “Just give me a minute to pack up my things.”

“Yeah, definitely. Meet me in the parking lot?”

“Sure,” Rasmus says, watching him walk away and sighing once he’s out of earshot. Truthfully, he doesn’t know exactly what it is he feels for Casey, but he knows there’s _something_ there, some . . . spark, whenever he looks at Casey and Casey’s looking right back.

That sounds dumb. Whatever.

Twenty minutes later they’re sitting in some small, cozy-enough café downtown, and over sandwiches and iced coffee Rasmus is vaguely aware of Casey complaining about something important. He’s not exactly sure _what_ , though—he’s only able to really pick up on every fifth word, because when Casey’s nervous he starts to ramble and when he rambles his words tend to jumble together.

“Casey, hey,” Rasmus says, cutting Casey off mid-sentence when he decides he can’t take it anymore. “Calm down. What’s the matter?”

“Sorry, sorry. So—my parents are hosting this Christmas party,” Casey says, deliberately slower than before. “And when they asked me if I was bringing a plus-one, I said yes, but that was because I had a boyfriend at the time. Like six months ago he dumped me, though, and I never brought it up to my mom, so now she still thinks I’m bringing a date that doesn’t exist anymore to the party in a month. I’ve tried to see if any of my old exes are willing to pretend-date me for the weekend or something, and I’ve even tried, y’know, Tinder; no dice. So I’m fucked, basically.”

“Yikes,” Rasmus says, sympathetic. “That’s rough.”

“Pretty much,” Casey confirms, worriedly running a hand through his hair as he tries to think of what to do.

Before thinking about the full implications of what he’s agreeing to, Rasmus says, “I could be your date.” Mostly, he rations to himself, he never wants to see that look on Casey’s face again, an unpleasant marriage of regret and distress.

The expression it’s replaced with is reluctant bemusement, almost as if Casey had to do a double-take to ensure that he heard Rasmus correctly. “You’d do that for me?”

“I mean—” Rasmus says, stopping to think about what to say next before he continues. “You don’t have other options, yes? I could help you out, if it’s just for the weekend.”

“You are the _best_ ,” Casey declares, his face lighting up immediately. “I owe you one, seriously, thank you _so much_ —”

“Hey, hey,” Rasmus interrupts, laughing a little at Casey’s enthusiasm. “It’s no problem. I’m happy to help.”

Casey gets the hint and focuses his attention back to his sandwich, though he’s unable to hide his smile through the rest of lunch as they switch the subject to their upcoming game against the Sharks.

All in all, Rasmus thinks the look on Casey’s face is probably worth whatever awkwardness will come in a month’s time.

(Besides, as Casey is always saying, that awkwardness is a problem for _future_ Rasmus.)

 

Rasmus is a little concerned about how chill Casey seems to be about the whole thing—in fact, Casey doesn’t bring it up to him at all until a few weeks later.

They’re sitting in Casey’s living room, playing Fortnite after practice, and out of nowhere Casey says, “I think we should come up with a story.”

“A story?” Rasmus repeats back, his eyes still on the TV.

“Yeah,” Casey confirms. He pauses the game and drops his controller before he continues, “Like, of how we started dating.”

“Oh,” Rasmus says dumbly. “Right.”

“It has to be . . . believable. Something simple, I guess.”

“Well, how long do your family think we’ve been dating for?”

“A few months, I guess?”

Rasmus takes a minute to backtrack in his head to a few months ago—that’d put him at the beginning of the season, and excluding practices and team dinners and such, him and Casey didn’t hang out much until later into the season.

Except—well. There was the one day at the end of October.

“What about if it happened the day we were supposed to go to the Bills game?” Rasmus asks, and he can see on Casey’s face the moment everything clicks in his head and he remembers the day in question.

“The day you caught a cold, or whatever, and I had to come to your place and nurse you back to health,” Casey says.

“You didn’t _have_ to,” Rasmus scoffs. “But anyway—we could tell your parents that I admitted I liked you that night when you came over and brought me soup and extra blankets, or something.”

“You know, that’s actually a really good idea,” Casey says, and Rasmus doesn’t miss the little twinkle in his eye that accompanies his smile. “See—faking this for my family is gonna be no problem. We already got through the hardest part.”

Rasmus has to stop himself from laughing at the idea of _that_ being the hardest part of this whole ordeal, but nonetheless he nods in agreement and tells Casey to start up their game again.

And—well, that’s that, basically.

 

During road trips, Casey spends most of his time in the room playing Fortnite or, like, taking naps, and Rasmus has already exhausted his desire to do either on the second day of the road trip.

They’re in LA, and it’s the team’s off day, so he tells Casey he’s going out and orders an Uber to whatever shopping area comes up first in his Google search.

Twenty minutes later he’s standing at the corner of Rodeo Drive, realizing belatedly that he doesn’t have the slightest idea what he could get Casey for Christmas. He decides to head into the first store he sees, in hopes he’ll find inspiration somewhere. For the next few hours he looks in myriad high-end jewelry and clothing shops, but nothing seems _right_ for the occasion. He needs something more sentimental, something that screams that he cares about Casey more than anyone in the world.

Accepting defeat, he orders an Uber back to the hotel. He knows it’s sounds childish, but he just wants to be back home. It’s not that he’s having second thoughts about this— _thing_ with Casey, only that he wishes he could breathe some familiar air for once, stop having to put himself in these foreign situations. He wants, more than anything, to sleep in his own bed again, surrounded by his favorite childhood teddy bear that he stupidly didn’t bring to Buffalo with him.

And that—well, _actually_ , that gives him an idea.

Once he’s dropped off at the hotel, he texts his mom on the way up to his room, asking her to mail him his teddy bear. He doesn’t specify that it’s for a gift, but—she doesn’t need to know that, necessarily. Within the hour she replies saying she’ll mail it to him the next morning.

So, that takes care of that.

 

They walk into the airport at around noon, and Rasmus should’ve anticipated the mess they find themselves in the middle of. It’s two days out from Christmas, which in hindsight _is_ peak holiday travel time, or at least close to it, and after the first few people who come up to them asking for pictures, Rasmus wants nothing more than for his oversized hoodie to swallow him whole.

Casey realizes something is up when Rasmus doesn’t even try to put on a fake smile in front of a family who ask for an autograph; he gives Rasmus a quick kiss on the cheek once the family leaves and tells him, “You’re allowed to say no to these people, you know.”

Rasmus pulls his hoodie further over his head and shrugs. “I shouldn’t be rude. I’m just . . . tired.” It’s a better answer than having to explain the anxiety about the upcoming few days, anyway.

Casey drops it and says, “Okay,” and grabs his hand, pulling him gently in the direction of their gate.

 

Rasmus starts to feel better on the flight, due largely in part to the fact that Casey lets him fall asleep with his head on Casey’s shoulder for most of it.

He doesn’t wake all the way up until they’re in the Uber to Casey’s parents’ place, when he’s thrust back into reality and suddenly unable to stop himself from picturing how it’ll go down if his parents see right through their lie. He bounces his leg and tries to look out the window at something as a distraction, but all it does is make him feel more on edge, really.

Eventually Casey nudges him in the side and says, “Dude, _relax_.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Rasmus mumbles.

“It’ll be fine,” Casey promises him with a reassuring smile. Without looking over to gauge his reaction, Casey dips down and laces his fingers in Rasmus’ and squeezes gently.

Looking out the window to hide his blush, Rasmus watches the twin cities pass him, and tries unsuccessfully not to focus on the fact that Casey doesn’t let go of his hand until they pull up to his parents’ house.

In the time it takes them to unload their suitcases and walk up the driveway to the porch, Casey’s parents have already opened the door for them and as soon as Casey notices, he drops his bag and runs up to hug them both.

Rasmus carries Casey’s bag up the rest of the way, and follows the three of them inside and sets them all down on the floor just as Casey is introducing Rasmus to his parents.

“It’s nice to meet you, honey,” Casey’s mom says.

Rasmus smiles, shy, and says, “Thank you for having me.”

“We’re happy you could make it,” Casey’s dad says.

“Why don’t we head over to the kitchen,” Casey’s mom suggests. “I’m sure the two of you are tired—wouldn’t you like to sit down, maybe have something to eat?”

“Actually, I was thinking I could show him around first?”

“Sure, you boys go have fun,” Casey’s mom says, looking fond. “I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready.”

“Thanks, mom!” Casey calls, already halfway up the stairs, Rasmus following not far behind.

It’s a little awkward, once it’s the just two of them in Casey’s childhood bedroom; Rasmus tries to distract himself from that fact with little success as he looks around Casey’s room.

His room is not unlike Rasmus’ own back home in Sweden; hanging above his bed are jerseys from Minnesota and Buffalo. There are framed pictures on his desk, of him on his draft day and with his family, and a few of him with friends from high school. His walls are cream-colored, plain and simple, and his bedding is, predictably, Sabres blue.

“You impressed?” Casey inquires from where he’s sitting on the bed, with a little grin, expectant.

“It’s nice,” Rasmus says.

Casey pats the space next to him on the bed. “Come here, sit.”

Rasmus does, and looks out the window he’s facing and decidedly not into Casey’s eyes, because he thinks he’ll say something dumb if he does. Eventually he gives up and meets Casey’s gaze, and for a split second he almost looks vulnerable, but it’s gone as soon as it comes and it leaves Rasmus feeling more self-conscious than he was originally.

“Will you do something for me?” Casey asks, feigning innocence, and Rasmus _knows_ that look, knows he’s probably not going to like whatever comes next.

Naively, he says, “Anything,” and Casey’s smile only widens.

“Kiss me?” Casey asks. “Just for practice.”

At any other point in time Rasmus could count on both his hands the reasons why obliging his request would be a bad idea, but he finds himself unable to think of even one, right now. So he nods, and plants one shaky hand on the side of Casey’s face before leaning in to kiss him.

The first kiss is quick, a little cautious, on Casey’s part—more of a press of mouths than anything more deliberate than that. It’s a good kiss, objectively, but there’s a part of Rasmus that thinks, _more_ , so he pulls Casey closer by the collar of his flannel with his free hand and deepens the kiss further.

Casey reacts beautifully, gasping into Rasmus’ mouth and moving over so he’s almost fully sitting in Rasmus’ lap, his hands tangled in his hair. Rasmus feels like he’s on fire, every nerve in his body coming alive when Casey’s hands and mouth move with his.

Eventually they pull away after what feels like an eternity, and Casey looks a little apprehensive as he does so. “Um, was that—was that okay?”

“More than okay,” Rasmus says, and Casey’s signature smile returns, satisfied and pleased, although he does look quite a bit more disheveled than usual.

He almost regrets letting Casey kiss him, because now he can’t get the feeling of Casey’s hands on his skin, his mouth on his, out of his mind. He wishes he hadn’t gotten that experience, knowing that none of it’s real, knowing that he’ll probably never get that chance again.

Before either of them have time to think about what the hell any of this means, they hear a knock on his door and a moment later Casey’s mom’s says, “Boys, dinner’s ready if you’re hungry. . . .”

“Right, we’ll be down in a minute,” Casey calls; after she’s presumably gone back downstairs, Casey turns back to Rasmus.

“One more?” he asks innocently.

Rasmus offers a shy smile and nods, and this time when Casey leans over to give him a brief kiss, it already feels much less sloppy and uncoordinated than it did the first time. And God, Rasmus never wants it to stop.

When they get down to the kitchen table, everyone’s already sitting down for dinner. Predictably, the two open spots at the table are next to each other, between one of Casey’s brothers and his mom.

Casey lets Rasmus pick where he wants to sit, and he chooses to sit next to John, which he figures necessitates an introduction. “Luke, John, this is my boyfriend. Babes, these are my brothers.”

“Already heard so much about you, man. Nice to meet you.” John goes in for a fist-bump, which Rasmus accepts easily, and then they get seated. It’s . . . easier than Rasmus was expecting, honestly.

“Luke’s not always this quiet,” Casey whispers, as the rest of his family is serving themselves, “he’s just, y’know, a pretty big fan of yours.”

Rasmus glances over at Luke, and lo and behold his cheeks and the tips of his ears have gone noticeably pink; he ducks his head to try to hide that fact as he loads his plates with three pieces of garlic bread. And Rasmus—he has to laugh at the idea that his boyfriend’s brother is his biggest fan, or something. He makes a mental note to talk him up a little at some point over the weekend, maybe offer to sign something of his.

Casey is glad his family holds off on asking them a million questions about their relationship in the beginning, instead opting to ask Rasmus how he’s liking Buffalo so far and asking him how Swedes celebrate Christmas before steering the conversation into the inevitable questions.

“So, how long have you been dating my brother?” John asks, helping himself to seconds on salad.

Rasmus is decidedly unprepared for the question, his fork hovering in the air for a few minutes before he drops it. Casey comes to his rescue, though, and says, “Only a few months.”

“You know,” John says, oblivious to how nervous he’s making Rasmus, “meeting the family is a pretty big relationship milestone.”

“Uh, yeah,” Rasmus says; he doesn’t know what he’s _expected_ to say to that.

On his other side, Casey shrugs. “His family’s all the way back in Sweden, I wasn’t gonna not invite him here, so.”

“Rasmus, honey,” Casey’s mom says, giving John a _look_. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but—when did you know he was ‘the one’?”

 _Well that’s a question, isn’t it_ , Rasmus thinks as he shoves a forkful of lasagna in his mouth to buy himself time. It’s not like they’re _married_ or anything, so the phrasing of the question seems a little dramatic. He looks over to Casey, who’s looking right back at him expectantly, and he looks strangely tense.

“I think it happened slowly,” he says, making it up completely off the top of his head. “We first met at training camp, and became friends pretty quickly, and over time I realized that we got along very well, but that I didn’t want to just be his friend, I guess.”

He fidgets with the hem of his shirt as he tries to better articulate the story he’s spun in his head. When he looks up, he notices that Casey’s taken the croutons from his salad because he knows Rasmus hates them more than anything, and he finds himself subconsciously reaching for the remaining half of his roll and handing it to Casey, because he knows Casey always wants more bread than he ends up taking, and by the time he thinks to get seconds, they’re all gone. It hits him, then, that this is just something they _do_ , an unspoken agreement they made not long into their friendship, and it makes Rasmus’ stomach flip a little to think they’re better at this whole fake-dating thing than either of them would’ve thought.

“He’s always cared for me a lot, and I knew that I really like him when I was sick and he came to my apartment around the beginning of the season and brought me soup and other things, so I told him how I felt then.”

Casey’s mom genuinely looks a little choked up when Rasmus looks over at her, and his dad looks so _proud_ , it makes him—uncomfortable, almost. Without stopping to think about it, he fumbles under the table to find Casey’s hand with his own, for the comfort he’s lacking at the moment. God, he can’t believe he’s going along with this, can’t believe he agreed to risk breaking Casey’s parents hearts if they find out . . .

Finally Casey’s mom says, “That’s really sweet, honey. I’m happy for you two.”

It’s quiet for another minute or so as everyone finishes up dinner, and then Luke says, “You any good at Fortnite, Rasmus?”

Rasmus grins. “I can hold my own.”

“That is a complete lie,” Casey interrupts, and all four of them start to laugh.

“Race you two downstairs, we can play a few rounds,” Luke offers.

“You’re on, bud,” Casey says, pulling Rasmus up with him, all three of them running in the direction of the stairs.

Casey ends up carrying him and Rasmus, as usual, but Luke and John aren’t too bad and they end up being a pretty successful squad.

 

“Hey, so,” Casey says later that night, while he’s in the middle of stripping down to his underwear—which should be illegal, in Rasmus’ biased opinion, but whatever. It happens. “You don’t mind sharing, do you?”

“No, that’s fine,” Rasmus says, pleasantly surprised with how steady his voice comes out. He tries to look anywhere else but at the curve of Casey’s shirtless back facing him, but it ends up mostly unsuccessful. He darts his eyes away as soon as Casey turns around, asks him if he can borrow a pair of sweats. Casey nods and tosses him a pair, and Rasmus doesn’t think too much about taking his own jeans off in front of Casey until he looks up absently and notices that Casey’s staring.

(And he’s not, like, trying to _hide_ it, either. Which, noted. Rasmus is going to be thinking about that look for awhile, probably.)

It’s awkward for a split second when they both go for the same side, but Casey concedes to Rasmus and they settle into bed, for the most part, no problem. Casey’s bed isn’t huge, but it’s not too bad if they abandon the concept of personal space a little; the position they end up in has Rasmus sleeping on his side facing away from Casey, who’s lying on his back.

He braces himself for a sleepless night of hyperfixation around the fact that Casey is close enough to reach out and touch, but as soon as his head hits the pillow he’s out like a light, exhaustion after their day of travel getting the best of him more than he thought.

 

The next morning Rasmus is immediately thrown into Christmas party decorating from the time he gets up from the breakfast table to when the party starts at 5. They put snacks out, clean up the kitchen and living room and get dressed, and by the time they have the opportunity to sit down and take a breath, the first group of guests ring the doorbell.

His dad answers the door, and after a minute yells out, “It’s for you, Casey!”

Rasmus watches from the next room as Casey’s face lights up when he sees a bunch of his friends; he gives them all individual hugs, before leading them into the kitchen where Rasmus has started washing dishes to help Casey’s mom out later.

“Oh, no no no,” Casey says, dramatic as he often gets. “If you do dishes while we’re having a party I will actually kill myself.”

Rasmus can’t help but laugh, reaching over for the towel to wipe his hands dry. “Fine, but I’m helping you clean up later, okay?”

“Whatever you say, Mary Poppins.” Casey rolls his eyes and leans up to peck Rasmus on the lips without thinking much of it; as soon as he hears a chorus of aww’s coming from his friends, he blushes a fierce scarlet. “Um, guys, this is my boyfriend. Obviously.”

“It’s nice to meet you, man!” one of them says, tackling him into a friendly hug. One by one, they introduce themselves, and Rasmus lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in. It’s a nice reassurance to know that they don’t hate him on principle, or whatever else his brain unhelpfully prompted him with.

“So let’s get this party started, eh?” Casey says, handing out beers like they’re free candy.

 

A few hours and more alcohol than they can keep track of later, Rasmus finds himself sitting in the basement with the rest of Casey’s friends, listening to them tell half-coherent stories about Casey’s embarrassing moments from when they were growing up.

One of his friends—Cooper, he thinks, or maybe his name is Cole—is telling a story that, by the middle of it, Rasmus starts to recognize. Casey told it to him a little differently, though, and Rasmus wants him to weigh in on the matter.

“Casey,” he calls from the stairs. “Come here, älskling, I have something to ask you.”

Almost immediately Casey comes down the stairs, his expression a careful neutral when he and Rasmus rejoin the rest of the group.

“Hold on, wait,” one of Casey’s friends say. “What’d you call him? Back there?”

Rasmus looks helplessly over at Casey, who in turn is looking down at his socks. “It’s—uh. Swedish. It means . . . darling? Or sweetheart, I think.”

Another one of Casey’s friend says, “That’s cute as shit, what the hell,” his face softening into a smile.

“Man, I miss my fucking girlfriend,” Rasmus hears someone say—it’s hard to tell who, though, as he’s trying to gauge a reaction out of Casey with no luck. After a minute Casey excuses himself, and like, his boys are too shitfaced to care too much, but they watch him as he walks back upstairs as if they want to stop him but don’t know how.

“I’m just gonna—” Rasmus says, gesturing upstairs.

“Yeah, go get your boy,” one of them says, giggling a little as if he’s just told the punchline to a joke.

Rasmus walks upstairs slowly, so he can think of what to _say_ to Casey, and in the end he gets to the top of the stairs and decides to just fucking, wing it as always.

He stops in his tracks as he’s about to round the corner into the kitchen, because he can hear Casey talking on the phone with somebody.

_“He called me asl—alsk—I don’t fucking know how to say it, but, like, he said it means darling.”_

There’s a pause, and then Rasmus hears, _“I’m not gonna fucking ask him, Jesus. Just—what does it mean?”_

_“I don’t know how I feel about it, okay? Can you just help me out here?”_

A long few minutes pass by before Rasmus hears anything again, and then he hears Casey say, _“Fine, I’ll figure it out and tell you tomorrow. Later, man.”_

Rasmus isn’t entirely sure what to do with this situation, so he goes as discreetly as he can to the bathroom to have some room to think.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he tries to get himself to just. Calm down, try to rationalize the situation. He didn’t _mean_ to call Casey something with such specific implications—he certainly doesn’t regret it, he just wishes Casey didn’t start to freak out about the whole thing; they’re fake-dating, and that’s what people who are dating _do_ , isn’t it?

Regardless, he’s not about to try to talk to a Casey who is too drunk to say more than seven words at a time, so he decides to stop thinking about it for the night. Chances are it’ll all work itself out in the morning; these things usually do.

 

Casey is somehow even more hammered by the time his friends leave, though Rasmus is only barely tipsy because he knew Casey was likely to do something dumb if he was left unsupervised while this drunk. Casey falls into his arms on the couch and declares tonight the best night _ever_.

Pushing his worry to the back of his mind, Rasmus plants a kiss in his hair as he hears the front door closing, meaning everyone’s left. “You wanna sleep?”

“No,” Casey frowns. “It’s not even late.”

Rasmus snorts. “Past one in the morning, last time I checked.”

Casey doesn’t respond to that, just buries his face further into Rasmus’ chest.

“Alright, up we go,” Rasmus decides, helping Casey stand upright.

Somehow they make it to the bedroom in one piece, and Rasmus dumps Casey on the bed before going to take a shower, because at this point he smells more like cheap beer than human.

As he’s getting dressed after his shower he realizes he forgot a pair of pajama pants to change into, so he steps out into the bedroom to grab a pair, and finds Casey lying on the bed and looking in his direction through lidded eyes, looking happy about something.

“You okay?” Rasmus asks, starting to worry about him again. Ever since he let the pet name slip, Casey’s been acting kind of—weird.

Maybe it’s all the alcohol, though. Yeah; that’s probably all it is.

Casey nods, then says, “Will you kiss me again,” although it comes out more as one word, rushed and a little slurred.

“Yes,” Rasmus says quickly, unable to imagine a scenario where he’d say anything else.

Casey starts making grabby hands at him until Rasmus finally reaches the bed, moving so that he’s on top of him. Casey’s breath stutters when Rasmus leans in to kiss him, deep and a little rough. It’s extremely likely that this is the last time he’ll get to do this, so he wants to make it count. It’s messy and frantic, grinding against each other quickly, and on more than one occasion Rasmus has to remind Casey to keep it down or they’ll wake up his family.

“God, you’re so . . .” Casey says in between short breaths, trailing off when Rasmus gets his mouth on Casey’s collarbone, a spot that’s always been sensitive to touch. “Fuck.”

Rasmus tries to get Casey to slow down, whispering in Casey’s ear that they have time, they don’t need to rush this. Even then, Casey only relaxes when Rasmus forces him to, setting the pace and guiding Casey along when he eventually surrenders to Rasmus’ mouth on his skin and hands in his hair.

In the end it’s Casey who comes first, eyes closed and his mouth gone slack, and the image alone of a debauched Casey Mittelstadt is enough to do it for Rasmus, too.

Rasmus moves over so he’s lying on Casey’s left side, and not even a full sixty seconds passes before he hears Casey’s familiar faint snoring. Rasmus reminds himself to follow suit and go to sleep, and try not to overthink what just happened.

Not tonight, at least.

 

Rasmus wakes up before Casey the next morning, and the first thing he does is look over to Casey to see if he’s still sleeping. He is, and it’s a little endearing, watching his chest rise and fall with every breath he takes, his soft snoring filling the room’s silence. He looks peaceful, and not for the first time this weekend Rasmus finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from him.

Eventually, though, his stomach lets him know it’s time to get up, so he makes himself shower and get dressed; he thinks he’ll go downstairs, see if he’s the only one up, maybe get something to eat.

When he walks into the kitchen he’s greeted with a quiet sort of bustle, Casey’s mom making pancakes as his brothers argue over who has to clean the dishes this time, Casey’s dad reading the newspaper at the table and trying his hardest to ignore the two of them.

It’s Casey’s mom who looks up from her cooking first; she smiles warmly and says, “Merry Christmas, Rasmus!”

“Merry Christmas,” Rasmus echoes, walking further into the room to where Casey’s mom is making him a plate.

“Here, have some pancakes.”

Rasmus walks over to the stove and graciously accepts a plate stacked with pancakes. “Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure, honey,” she says, joining him at the table.

Over breakfast, Casey’s brothers ask him question after question about growing up in Sweden, about his adjustment to Buffalo and America in general. Rasmus makes sure to emphasize that Casey was a big help in making Buffalo feel like home, willingly describing their festively-decorated apartment, complete with a fake Christmas tree and everything.

“So,” John says, as the conversation starts to die down. “You’re dating my brother.”

“Yes,” Rasmus says, absently wondering what kind of trick question that was.

“And you really like him?”

 _Obviously_ , he wants to say, but he settles instead on, “Very much.”

“I like you and everything,” John says, “but if you fuck this up with him . . .”

“No,” Rasmus says firmly, “I wouldn’t.”

This answer seems to satisfy John, as he says, “Okay, good,” and focuses back on the breakfast in front of him.

After that everyone’s pretty silent, and Rasmus doesn’t catch on for a good few seconds that everyone’s looking over at the doorway until he hears Casey’s voice behind him, distant but nonetheless discernible.

From there it’s obvious what exactly they’re all looking at: floating above his head is a sprig of conveniently placed mistletoe; Casey, though, is entirely oblivious. Or maybe just, like, still only half conscious. “What’s everybody staring at me for?”

“Uh, dude,” Luke says, hardly trying to cover up his smirk. “Look up.”

“Do you wanna . . . go over and, y’know,” John says, nudging him a little. Rasmus looks down the table at Casey’s parents, who are both looking at him and then Casey and then back to him, with a hopeful look on their faces, and then Luke is straight-up giggling now, so—

He’s doing it, then, he guesses. He gets up and walks over to Casey, and once he’s fully in Casey’s personal space he says under his breath, “We don’t have to. If you don’t want.”

“Oh, shut up,” Casey says, and then kisses Rasmus, just barely standing on his tiptoes.

Although they’ve had practice before, it’s an entirely different thing to kiss Casey in front of his entire family, rubbing circles in the jut of Casey’s hip as he tangles his hands gently in Rasmus’ hair. It feels—overly intimate, somehow, and as soon as they pull away Rasmus has an urge to take him upstairs and kiss him again, when they have all the time and privacy in the world.

“Merry Christmas,” Casey says, and his smile is softer around the edges but no less familiar, this time.

It’s not lost on him how this is the first time he’s thought about kissing Casey without, like, being _asked_ to or anything, and he would absolutely be freaking the fuck out about that if Casey weren’t right there, smiling up at him and holding his hand, leading him back to the table.

“So, boys, we’re all going to open presents and then watch _Home Alone_ tonight,” Casey’s mom says, hardly bothering to hide her excitement. “You can do whatever you want today, but we’ll all meet in the basement at 9, okay?”

As soon as his mom says ‘Home Alone,’ Casey’s face lights up. “Sweet, that’s my _favorite_.”

“Case, Rasmus, you guys wanna play street hockey with us until lunch?” Luke says, already halfway out of the room with John in tow.

“Please, we could kick your asses in our sleep,” Casey grins.

“Yeah?” John says, looking skeptical but nonetheless amused. “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is, eh?”

 

That night over homemade cookies and hot chocolate, Rasmus and the Mittelstadts sit in front of the tree and go around opening gifts.

Casey’s gift to his brothers are new rolls of tape and Sabres beanies for each of them, which they keep on for the rest of the night. He bought for his parents a new Kindle, because their old one has been broken for upwards of two years. It’s mostly his mom who’s excited, because it means she can go back to reading crime novels while she cooks.

Rasmus’ gift from Casey is last, and he opens it slowly, though he knows he has no reason to be nervous about what’s inside the small wrapped box. He gently pulls out a silver necklace with an attached charm in the shape of the Sabres logo. By all means it should be tacky, especially when Casey belatedly points out that there’s an engraving on the back of the date of Rasmus’ first NHL goal, but Rasmus finds himself endeared by how sweet it is, more than anything.

“It’s—very nice. Thank you.” Rasmus hands it to him, and says, “Put it on me?”

Casey does, and Rasmus’ heart jumps at the feeling of Casey’s hands hovering over the back of his neck.

“My turn?” Casey asks, and Rasmus nods, reaching under the tree and then handing Casey his present.

It’s obvious from the get-go what the gift is, as his attempt to wrap it went quite poorly and the outline of the teddy bear is unmistakable, but Casey’s eyes light up when he tears the wrapping off nonetheless.

Before Casey has a chance to say anything, Rasmus starts nervously rambling in broken English about how the bear used to belong to his father, and then it was passed onto him from the day he was born, and that it reminds him of home, and that in turn maybe now it can remind Casey of Rasmus. He doesn’t get through everything he wanted Casey to know before Casey leans over and shuts him up with a long kiss.

“I love it and I’m gonna keep it forever,” Casey says, and that’s—good. It’s good.

It makes Rasmus feel soft and fuzzy on the inside, when he thinks about how Casey has a piece of his heart in his bedroom, now. In hindsight it feels almost too perfect to be a gift for his fake-boyfriend, but maybe that’s because Rasmus has never put half of his effort into anything, or possibly it’s that he _wants_ it to be real. Either way, he has an idea of how this story ends—which is to say, not well.

He’s brought back to reality when his mom comes back from throwing away all the haphazard wrapping paper from the floor and says, “Movie time!”

Since they’ve piled the gifts onto the chair in the corner of the room, they all try to squeeze onto the couch, which is why Casey ends up sitting on the floor in between Rasmus’ legs.

Once the movie starts, Rasmus looks down at Casey, completely focused on the TV in front of him, and thinks about threading his hands in Casey’s hair. Rasmus is hardly one to deny himself an urge as simple as this one, so he does just that.

Casey doesn’t so much as flinch, and for awhile Rasmus pays more attention to his hands in Casey’s hair than to the movie, though it’s not for a lack of trying. Casey is his own special brand of distracting. It’s just . . . addictive, to run his hands through his soft hair. It doesn’t occur to him at the time, but everyone in the room is focused on the movie more than him and Casey, so there’s no _reason_ for him to be doing this, besides for his own pleasure. It all feels very normal, like this is how it’s always supposed to be.

 

Casey and Rasmus spend breakfast at home before leaving for the airport the next morning, and Casey’s mom makes French toast because it’s Casey’s favorite.

At the front door, Casey and Rasmus take turns hugging Casey’s parents and brothers, and as Luke pulls Rasmus into a hug he says, quiet enough so nobody else hears, “Nice hickey on my brother, eh?”

Rasmus rolls his eyes and punches Luke softly in the arm, though when he turns around he sneaks a glance at Casey’s neck, and—yeah, that’s unmistakably a hickey low on the side of his neck, barely exposed above the hem of his sweater.

It doesn’t take Rasmus long to come to the conclusion that he _likes_ seeing Casey marked up like that, like he’s been claimed, somehow. He almost wishes—

Well. Rasmus almost wishes he _could_ have Casey like that, only to himself, all the time. But as reality would have it, fairytales aren’t sustainable in the real world, and as soon as they pack their things into their Uber, Rasmus is reminded exactly why he can’t have Casey in the way he truly wants.

It’s probably for the best that he makes himself stop thinking about it by the time they get to the airport and Casey’s one track mind has fixed itself on buying gum and snacks for the flight.

 

Rasmus was never thinking that everything would change dramatically after they get back to Buffalo; it’s just—well, he thought _something_ would change, at least.

Sure enough, though, they get back into town in the afternoon with plenty of time to make the team dinner, and Casey sits next to Rasmus as usual and it’s like they never left, the boys chirping Casey for his awful haircut and Rasmus for his unusual eating habits, and everything is the same as it was.

Everything is the same as it was, except maybe Rasmus is more aware of his own heart-eyes, this time. And maybe, this time, he realizes he kind of loves Casey.

He decides on the drive home that he’s fucked, because there’s no way last weekend was anything more than a case of convenience, no matter how much Rasmus wants to read into things and believe it was. He goes to bed that night thinking about the way Casey looked at him under the mistletoe not long ago, and about how he wishes more than anything that that wasn’t the last time he’d see that look directed at him.

 

The team has the next day off, which means Rasmus spends the better half of the morning in bed watching Swedish cartoons on YouTube. He has enough motivation to get up at around eleven to shower and change, make himself cereal, and get right back in bed after that.

Especially invested in an episode an hour or so later, he almost misses the doorbell ringing but it’s just loud enough to not be drowned out by his laptop.

He’s not expecting anybody, so he thinks maybe he should just ignore it, but something in him makes him get up and check who’s at the door anyway.

Knock on fucking wood: Casey is standing on the other side of it.

He’s also holding a cardboard box, and Rasmus finds himself wanting to know what’s in it more than, you know, why Casey’s at his doorstep at eleven in the morning on their day off. “Uh—hi,” Rasmus says, eloquent as always.

“Hi,” Casey says, smiling despite himself. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Rasmus says, opening the door a little wider for Casey to step into the foyer.

Casey doesn’t linger; setting the box on the table, he gets straight to the point and says, “So, um, I found some of your shirts that mixed up with my stuff when I was unpacking from Minnesota? So I thought I’d give them back.”

Rasmus tries not to make his frown too obvious, because . . . that’s not where he thought Casey would go with this at all. Truth be told, Rasmus wouldn’t have missed them if Casey’d just kept them, but the rational part of his brain tells him maybe it’s better this way. “Yeah, thanks. You can just leave them on the table there, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Casey says, looking at the floor. “Uh, there’s also . . .” He doesn’t finish that thought, instead digging through the box until he pulls out the teddy bear Rasmus gave him for Christmas. And—that one hurt, a little. He’d assumed the implication about the gift was pretty clear, fake-dating circumstances or otherwise, but—

Yeah. Apparently not.

“Actually, I . . .” Rasmus says, trailing off as he decides whether or not he should, like, say how he really feels. And then Jeff’s warning replays itself in his head: _Don’t do something dumb_. Casey looks up at him and his expression is almost hopeful, and suddenly Rasmus knows exactly what he meant, and he says, “Actually, I wasn’t faking. I want you to keep it.”

Casey doesn’t say anything for a minute, the teddy bear still in his grip, presumably processing what Rasmus has just said. After the longest minute of Rasmus’ life, Casey drops the teddy bear and steps forward, kissing Rasmus once he gets close enough. It’s desperate and yet perfectly coordinated, and Rasmus knows the two cannot coexist in most scenarios, and yet it feels like the junction of their bodies is the best place for them to possibly synchronize; more than anything, though, it feels long overdue. Casey kisses him until they’re both short of breath and dizzy with it, and when he pulls away Rasmus sees that look he tried to forget about how much he missed.

Casey starts fumbling with the buttons on Rasmus’ flannel without pulling away from Rasmus’ mouth, but he doesn’t get as far as the third button before Rasmus pulls away and takes it all the way off himself.

“So many buttons . . .” Casey says, as if to wage war on the button-up shirt industry as a whole. Rasmus is mostly unsuccessful at suppressing his laugh, pushing Casey in the direction of the bedroom while working on the button of Casey’s jeans, quite a bit more skilled with his fingers than Casey is.

By the time they reach the bedroom they’re both clad in boxers only, and Rasmus is going to hate the clean-up along the hallway floor tomorrow morning, but. Worth it, he rations.

“C’mon, fuck me,” Casey says, between one breath and the next, and that’s— _yes_.

“Of course, älskling,” Rasmus says, without a hint of regret this time.

“Where do you keep your lube?”

“Top drawer, I think.”

Casey fishes it out of the drawer and notices its contents are half-emptied. “Been using this on yourself or someone else?”

Rasmus blushes, a little. “Myself, mostly.”

Casey curses under his breath. “Would you like to help me out, this time?”

Rasmus seriously thinks about it, and as appealing as it sounds, he shakes his head. “I want to watch you.”

“Fuck. Okay, yeah.” Casey steps out of his underwear and then sits on the bed again, against the headboard with his feet pushed apart a little.

It’s obvious by the way Casey moves without hesitation that he’s done this before. Multiple times, Rasmus would even guess. The pleased and determined noises Casey makes, soft in the back of his throat, are possibly the hottest thing Rasmus has seen in his life.

After a few more minutes Casey looks up at Rasmus and nods. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Rasmus isn’t exactly new to this part—he’s had his fair share of hookups back home—but it’s different, this time. He can’t put his finger on why, but as he reaches into the top drawer of his nightstand and pulls out a condom, his hands are shaking, just a little. His anxiety mostly subsides when he starts fucking Casey, finding a rhythm that works for them both. Casey is handsy as Rasmus starts to tentatively speed up, gripping his biceps as if they’re a lifeline. Dirty praise and curses falling from his lips until he comes, Rasmus following him shortly after.

He gets up after a minute to throw away the condom and takes a long look at himself in the bathroom mirror on the way back. He looks the same as he always does, of course, save for the hot blush high on his cheeks and hair sticking to his forehead from sweating a little. He feels different, though. Lighter.

Deciding not to overthink it, Rasmus walks back to his bed. When he gets close enough, he notices Casey is fast asleep, taking up a good three-quarters of the space on the bed. Rasmus gets in bed, strategically placing himself so that Casey is lying half on top of him, now; it’s not like Rasmus _dislikes_ that, though.

Rasmus falls asleep relatively quickly, and finds it’s a great deal easier with Casey in bed with him.

 

The first thing Rasmus notices when he wakes up the next morning is that Casey is gone.

He doesn’t think much of it at first—Casey probably just wanted to get ready for morning skate at his own place, but then Casey doesn’t acknowledge him at all in practice either, instead talking to Tage for most of skate. Rasmus only catches Casey asking about how redoing his apartment is coming along, and it leaves Rasmus to wonder what he could’ve done wrong.

(It’s not like last night didn’t go well—last night was _amazing_ , on the contrary, but it’s almost as if it didn’t happen at all, based on Casey’s current demeanor.)

Jeff invites him to lunch with some of the older guys, and as if he can read Rasmus’ mind he says, “Casey’s not coming, so. You don’t have to worry about that. Just me, Risto, and Caber.”

He has to consider that one for a minute, because like. He loves Risto and Caber; they’re like his team dads, but he’s also not thrilled by the idea of being in the presence of a teeth-rottingly happy couple right now when he’s going through a fake-relationship crisis. “Sure,” Rasmus says anyway, looking over Jeff’s shoulder at Casey, sitting in his stall scrolling through what he’s sure is Instagram. He’s biting his bottom lip as he focuses on his phone, and all Rasmus can think about is how _pretty_ he looks.

God. A distraction is just what he needs, honestly.

 

Lunch is nice and successfully serves its purpose, which is to say it gets Rasmus out of his own head for a bit.

During the game that night, though, something about the team’s play is—off. Passes aren’t connecting, their defense is doing more harm than good, and by the end of the first period they’re down three to nothing.

Sitting on the bench in the second, Jeff asks Rasmus, “You okay?”

“I mean, we’re losing. I could be _better_ —”

“Not about that,” Jeff says, flippant. “With Casey. Trouble in paradise?”

Rasmus sighs, and considers ignoring his question completely, but like. That’s a dick move. He recognizes that Jeff’s only looking out for him here. “This conversation needs more alcohol,” he decides. _And also more privacy,_ he stops himself from saying. “We can talk later?”

“Sure. My place?”

“Okay,” Rasmus says, and then Jeff’s line is called out for the next shift, so that about ends their brief conversation.

 

True to his word, Jeff drives Rasmus to his place after the game and puts on garbage TV that makes good background noise, and they’re both tipsy before Jeff brings up Casey at all.

Jeff bites first. “How did it go?”

“Oh, the weekend was great,” Rasmus says, because it’s the truth. He starts to explain everything that happened, including the night they had sex. “I know it was all fake, but I think I’m starting to like him for real, and that’s . . . frustrating. And the way he’s acting now doesn’t help me feel better about this, you know?”

“I fucking called it, man,” Jeff says, looking happier about this than he probably should. “So—do you think he likes you, too?”

Rasmus groans, because he saw this question coming from the get-go and he still doesn’t have an answer to it. “I don’t _know_. That’s the worst part.”

“Okay, listen,” Jeff says, putting on his best Former Alternate-Captain Voice even while sufficiently drunk. “Casey could’ve asked anyone to be his date for a weekend, but he chose you. I think that counts for something, you know? I don’t know why he’s freaking out now, but I’m willing to bet it’s because he likes you, and sex is like. A big step, you know? And like . . . love is hard. But I think you two would be good at it.”

For a drawn-out moment Rasmus thinks about that. _You two would be good at it._ The words hang heavy in the air as Rasmus pours himself another shot of vodka, the sting of it hitting the back of his throat but not enough of a burn to distract himself from his massive fucking issue at hand.

“Okay if I crash here?” Rasmus finally says, after many attempts to piece together what’s happening in this episode of the show they’ve been neglecting.

Jeff nods, jerks his head toward the hallway. “I’ll help you set up the bed.”

 

In the morning, Rasmus wakes up with the beginning stages of a headache and a craving for pancakes. One of those things is resolved rather quickly, as Jeff is plating the first batch of blueberry pancakes when Rasmus walks into the kitchen.

“You’re the _greatest,_ ” Rasmus declares, sitting at the table after Jeff hands him a plate and large cup of coffee. Although he’s thousands of miles from home, the breakfast reminds him of his mom, who made blueberry pancakes every Sunday for him and his sister.

“Doubt it, man, but I do know a sick hangover cure,” Jeff smiles, sitting across from him.

The rest of breakfast is comfortably quiet, and then Jeff drops Rasmus off at his place. His parting words are, “Don’t do something dumb,” which—fair, in any context, but especially in this one.

He paces around his kitchen for longer than is absolutely necessary, trying to talk himself out of doing something dramatic like drive to Casey’s apartment and spill his feelings. In the end, though, he has so much nervous energy that he can’t seem to get rid of and no better idea, so that’s exactly what he does.

He stands in front of Casey’s door, apartment 310, for a minute, planning out what to say once he’s face-to-face with Casey, and in the end what he ends up saying is, “We need to talk.”

Subtle, Rasmus. Totally nailed it.

“Uh . . .” Casey says; he sighs, and then says, “Okay. Come in.”

Rasmus doesn’t really have a plan after that, so he kind of just—waits for Casey to start the conversation for him. And luckily, he does.

“Listen, I’m sorry about—how I’ve been acting. I shouldn’t have ghosted you like that.”

Rasmus raises an eyebrow. “‘Ghosted’?”

“Oh, it means when you . . . okay, never mind. I’ll tell you later.”

“Okay,” Rasmus shrugs. “I’m sorry, too, if I made you feel uncomfortable. I really like you and I wouldn’t mess things up on purpose.”

“Hey, no, you’ve been great. I don’t—I really like you too. A lot.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Casey says, and he’s grinning dumbly, and Rasmus just really wants to kiss him. For real, this time.

“Can I kiss you?” Rasmus asks, already closing the space between them before Casey starts to nod.

Although the significance in a First Anything is minor, Rasmus mentally erases the kiss in Casey’s bedroom, and under the mistletoe in front of his family; even the night they hooked up doesn’t count anymore, because he wants this to be their first kiss—this right here, with Casey’s arm wrapped gently around Rasmus’ neck, Rasmus’ hand resting over Casey’s heart. This is what he wants to remember for the rest of his life, what he wants to tell his kids’ kids about, all that cheesy stuff.

“So,” Rasmus says, breathless. “Are we . . .”

“Dating?” Casey asks, with a hesitant smile. “Um, I kind of hoped we always were, but—officially, yeah, we are.”

“You mean—” Rasmus says, connecting the dots in his head until finally it all clicks together. “You mean when we were in Minnesota—that was . . . real?”

“For me it was, I guess. It’s true that I needed someone to be my date, but you were the obvious choice. I wanted it to be you for awhile.”

“Oh,” Rasmus says. “That’s—yeah, that’s really good to know.”

“So, y’wanna finish where we started off before?” Casey offers, and yeah, Rasmus really does.

“God, I can’t believe we could’ve been doing this for _months_ ,” Casey groans, in between kissing Rasmus’ mouth and jaw.

“The kissing?” Rasmus asks, “or the . . . dating?”

“Yes,” comes Casey’s reply, and Rasmus can’t help but kiss the smug smile off his face, now that he _can_.

 

In terms of Rasmus’ day-to-day life, not much changes after he starts dating Casey for real. On morning practice days, Casey still chirps him for looking like he rolled out of bed—which isn’t entirely accurate, Rasmus replies with—except now, when Casey remembers to buy himself coffee before practice, he buys Rasmus one, too. They still go out for lunch after practice almost every time, except there’s a lot more hand-holding and making out involved, now. They still room together on the road, except there’s more making out there, too, as well as . . . you know, other things.

Yeah. You get the point Rasmus is trying to make; it’s pretty incredible, dating Casey. He’s like a life-sized teddy bear, except unlike a stuffed animal he always gives Rasmus a stream-of-consciousness commentary when they’re watching Netflix until Rasmus can’t take it anymore and shuts him up with kisses.

(He finds out that last fact when they’re on the road, and he lets Casey choose a movie to watch after a win in Tampa. Casey chooses _To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before_ , because he’s a self-proclaimed rom-com enthusiast, hardly to Rasmus’ surprise. During all the cheesy romantic scenes, Casey will say, “We’ve never done that before,” as if they haven’t been dating a whopping seven weeks.

“We could if you wanted,” Rasmus hums, his eyes still on the laptop screen in between them.

“I mean—do you even have the coordination to spin me by the jean pockets?” Casey says, and Rasmus doesn’t have to look to know he’s smirking.

“Fuck you, I totally do.” It’s a little bit of a stretch, but also. This is a movie. Nobody does things like that in the streets of downtown Buffalo—or, for that matter, anywhere in public.

“Sure you could, and I’m really 6’1,” Casey says.

“Wait, aren’t you?” Rasmus asks.

“Oh honey,” Casey laughs, “you’ve got so much to learn.” He snuggles closer into Rasmus’ shoulder, and doesn’t shut up for the rest of the movie and even after that, when he informs Rasmus that he isn’t even that tired and that they should watch something else.

He is, predictably, asleep within 15 minutes of _Thor: Ragnarok_ , another movie he picked himself.

Rasmus couldn’t love him more.)

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the jobros song "lovebug" :')
> 
> if u made it this far, drop a kudos! tell me what you think!


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